Embers to Fire
by Mondmaedchen
Summary: Everything is fine until he meets Him and everything goes to hell. (Can be read as any character you desire, free form, no names.)


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

 **Once again, this is a story that can be read for any character you desire. Please enjoy.**

* * *

It's dark.

So very dark.

It's the ache in his chest and the pull on his heart and the thoughts that won't ever leave his mind, the thoughts of ending it all and just _leaving_ , leaving this piece of shit life behind and _fuck_ , he just wants the pain to end.

He spirals down, down, deeper into this hole that he can simply find no way out of, the rope fraying and the light growing dimmer until someone _finally_ notices and calls help and he's found, red on his wrists and all around him and everywhere, slumped over, leaning on the wall of his bathroom.

His parents cry, his friends tip-toe around him like he's made of glass but he _isn't..._ he just wanted a way out. A way to escape, a way to disappear, a way to _not feel_ anymore.

He isn't getting it.

What he _is_ getting, is help.

He's on suicide watch in the hospital and talks to a therapist every day. Even when he leaves the hospital, he still goes back to the white walls and sterile floors and the sharp smell of chemicals and _death_ that seems to linger on every floor, in every room, in all of the doctors' clothes and the nurses' hair and everything that has to do with the hospital.

He gets better.

He gets better and better, as the therapy works and he has pills and everything seems fine, fine and okay and he's just fine, happier than before, the pills are working─

Everything is fine until he meets _Him_ and everything goes to hell.

They talk over coffee and shared meals. They start small (friendship is almost always the beginning of something more) and then they start brushing fingers together, giggling like children and feeling happier than ever. He feels happier than ever.

Their flirting turns to small kisses, peppered everywhere; on his face, on his arms, on his wrists, his palms, his hands. Small kisses turns to harder bites and marks left on his stomach, neck, jawline, hickeys to show that he is _loved,_ he is _claimed,_ he _belongs_ to _Him._

Then it gets stronger, more mature, more dirty; kisses on the insides of his thighs, sensual touching, and finally, _sex._ And everything is good, everything is fine, until _He_ whispers, " _I have scars too."_

 _He_ shows them, little white lines on the insides of His wrists, pink lines on His thighs, the inside of His thighs, barely noticeable scratches on His stomach, His arms, His biceps; everywhere _He_ can reach.

Sweet kisses, flirting, dirty touching, sex, all in a healthy relationship, gets darker, as _He_ tells thoughts of suicide, of hurting Himself, of taking pills and drugs and drinking and getting high as He escapes from the world He hates. _His_ eyes plead for him to understand, and understand he does, kisses _His_ eyelids and promises that he won't ever leave _Him._

And _He_ tries to get better, too, He truly, really does, until he finds _Him_ crying in the bedroom, razor clutched in His fingers and blood everywhere.

 _He_ starts going down, falling into a dark pattern that hurts not only Him but him as well, and he does nothing to try and stop it, instead going down with him.

It's breathy, whispered, after long weeks of drowning together, unable to swim to shore or call for help, " _Why don't we just end this?"_

Both are too hazy to rationalize, dark and in despair as they are, lost souls clinging to one another, isolated from the world.

(He met _Him_ and the embers started sparking.)

It's in the dead of night when they both are standing at the top of the building, hands held tightly and eyes clear and focused. They share a final, sweet, lingering kiss, and eyes that longingly stare at each other shift their gaze to the ground.

 _He_ smiles softly at him, and says, " _I love you."_

He smiles back, tears welling up (happy tears, not sad tears, he tells himself) and whispers back. " _I love you too."_

They pull their gazes up from the bottom and meet soft eyes, filled with love and desire, tinged with black and despair.

They jump.

 _(Separate they were fine, together they were lost; he was a matchstick and He was gasoline and together they burned the whole world to the ground.)_


End file.
